


La Vie En Rose

by StationaryRat



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Also good French, Bad French, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jaunty tunes, Light Angst, M/M, Memories of dying, Mentions of Louis Armstrong, Past Drug Use, Slow Dancing, Thunderstorms, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, im so bad at tags yall, past overdose, radiodust - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 20:28:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21482386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StationaryRat/pseuds/StationaryRat
Summary: Alastor learns that Angel is afraid of thunderstorms, and Angel in turn learns about the Radio Demon.
Relationships: Alastor & Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 693





	La Vie En Rose

**Author's Note:**

> I saw Angie was afraid of storms and all I have to say is I'm a sucker for some good fluff.  
I’m dedicating this to my IRL Alastor and one of my best friends Danny boi. Enjoy ur fluff. Ily. Sorry my writing isn’t the best.  
Content Warning for not-super-but-still-kind-of-graphic descriptions of past drug use/overdoses/death. If there's any faults in my French please correct me, I don't speak the language.

“I’m jus’ sayin’, Husk, Charlie don’ gotta know,” Angel grins over at the bartender. It was a slow day; Rain had been pouring since any residents had woken up, the sky dark the evening before. It set an eerie mood in hell; The constant hum of the downpour and the darkened sky and atmosphere outside giving many an opportunity for their evil deeds. Angel though, unable to participate thanks to Charlie and the hotel, was stuck inside. He’s got his chin slumped into the palm of his hand, sagging heavily against the oak of the bar as he tries to be persuasive. Husk seems immune to Angel as he bats his eyelashes slowly towards the other demon, a flirty grin on his face as he watches Husk putter about putting glasses away and pointedly trying to ignore the spider crooning to him with poorly masked desperation. 

It had felt like years that Angel Dust had been staying at the Hazbin Hotel. He’d grown… Comfortable. As comfortable as he could at least; Accustomed to the boredom that came with Charlie’s strict rehabilitation program, the monotonous sober life inside of the hotel’s walls. He still wasn’t sold on the idea, on the sobriety or the whole Heaven shtick, but… He had grown to care about the people there, despite his teasing. His caring, however, did not extend far enough to keep Angel from pushing his chances with the bartender of the Hazbin Hotel, and today was an especially boring day given the violent downpour of rain outside. 

“No is no, ya rat bastard, now get off my bar. Don’t you have a boyfriend to bother, anyways? Why’s it gotta be me,” Husk grumbled half-heartedly to Angel as he began re-organizing his booze selection, back pointedly turned to the other demon. Angel gives out a harsh huff, grin replaced by a pout as he watches Husk move about. 

“W-we ain’t boyfriends! J-just… Testin’ the waters! Feelin’ things out!” Angel defends, though a smirk is growing on his face as he watches Husk refuse to turn and look at him. It gives Angel an idea, watching the other demons back. An opening; Just like Angel never comments on Husk’s imbibing on the job, Husk pretends not to hear the jangling of glass as Angel dives over the bar and snatches the first bottle he can get his hands on; A half empty bottle of rum, spout still crammed into the neck of it. Even with Husk’s added lack of caring, Angel still feels triumphant in his hi-jinx. 

“Well, speakin’ of not-boyfriend, I guess I’ll go bother him now,” Angel says in a rush, standing from his bar stool with his trophy clutched to his chest. Too distracted by the thrill of stealing from the bar, Angel Dust only realizes the aforementioned “Not Boyfriend” Alastor has entered the lobby and approached the pair when he runs square into him while turning to leave. 

“My, what do we have here!” Alastor exclaims, seemingly unphased by Angel’s collision with his chest. He’s grinning smugly down at the spider, eyes squinted as the Radio Demon takes in the scene. Husk gives a glance over his shoulder and an uncaring shrug to Alastor, while Angel cradles the bottle of liquor to his chest in a protective way. 

“GOD, Jesus, Al, ya scared the shit outta me!” Angel exclaims, falling back against the bar in his surprise. “Fuckin’ knock, would ya? Almost dropped my booze.” 

“A scandal, I presume?!” Alastor teases theatrically, nose wrinkling up just so as he examines the stolen rum. Angel’s still pouting, expecting Alastor will reprimand him or insist he put the liquor back, and it only makes the demon clutch the bottle tighter to his chest with all four of his arms. He opens his mouth to say something in response to the Radio Demon’s teasing, but a loud crack of thunder spreads through the building all at once. Loud enough to shake the framework of the hotel, Angel’s eye’s blow wide and his body visibly tenses as the sound rolls over the trio in the lobby before quieting once more. 

The reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by Alastor. Angel was  _ scared _ . Or, at the very least harshly startled by the loud sound. 

“What were you saying, dear?” He prods, leaning a bit closer to Angel. Taking in the subtle tremor of his hands, the way his eyes are still blown wide and glassy, how Angel Dust tries to brush it off but still fumbles his response. 

“W-was gonna say, what’s it to ya?” Angel Dust replies, folding his arms over his chest. He cocks a hip, smirking at Alastor in a challenging way, masking his fear well. Alastor only grins wider, before extending a hand towards the other in invitation. 

“Why, I say we should celebrate your escapades victory and plunder the spoils! Care to join me in my room?” Angel seems caught off guard by Alastor’s offer, eyes widening and body relaxing as he stares between the outstretched hand. He knew the demon was only helping with the hotel out of boredom, and whatever you would call their budding romance was hardly a week old, but he hadn’t anticipated that boredom and mild interest would extend enough that he would ask Angel back to his room to drink. Angel had never even seen Alastor drink before, had assumed he was straight edge given the man’s apparent sex-repulsion. Even in hell, Alastor managed to keep an air of being “above it all”, and the surprise manages to shock Angel out of his residual fear of the storm raging outside. 

“Didn’t think y’were one to imbibe,” Angel Dust accuses with a smirk, eyebrow arched. “An’ to think you’d wanna do so with lil ol’ me? Al, I’m swooni-” Another harsh crack of thunder crashes through the lobby of the hotel, this time causing the lights to flicker in time with the flash of lightning that shines through the windows. The frame still shakes, and this time the sudden clatter of thunder causes Angel to yelp, nearly dropping the rum in his surprise. 

Alastor’s grin wanes as he once again takes in Angel’s fear. He can practically taste it from where he stands, between the way Angel’s breathing picks up and his arms go to fold over himself in a protective way. If anyone asked, Alastor would say any tears in Angel’s eyes were just a trick of the light. 

“Come, darling,” He says in a softer tone, closing the distance between them. The hand outstretched for Angel’s instead goes to rest against his lower back, turning the spider towards the nearby stairs. Angel only gives a short nod, swallowing thickly as he lets Alastor direct both of them out of the lobby without another word or farewell to Husk. 

It was quiet on the walk through the hotel, and it gives Angel Dust time to calm down. He counts his steps and lets himself focus on the monotonous pattering of rain against the windows and roof of the hotel, focusing on the barely-there pressure of the Radio Demon’s hand on his back, gentle but still firm enough to show Angel he was in control so the other demon didn’t have to be. 

Alastor doesn’t acknowledge anything either as he walks next to Angel, only quietly considering the other’s fear to himself. Angel’s thankful for the fact that Alastor has yet to say anything about his reactions in the lobby, and also secretly thankful that he’s offered to spend time with him. It… Helped, even if Angel was hesitant to admit it. 

“Welcome to my abode!” Alastor says as he throws open the door to his room. A soft, jaunty tune emanates from an old radio on the far side of the room, mixing well with the harsh noise of the rain. The lights are low, yellow toned to accent the rustic and classy interior design. “Make yourself at home, dear.” 

“Thank ya kindly,” Angel says softly, hesitant as he steps inside. He watches from near the door as Alastor sheds his coat and rolls up his sleeves, puttering about the room putting things away and retrieving some glasses for the pair. He seems to bob along to the music playing, humming along with it. Angel’s at a loss of where to stand, what to do however as he loiters by the entrance. He’d never been one to be anxious about invading other Demon’s spaces, what with his previous occupation, but this was… Different. He wasn’t here to just have sex and leave, he wasn’t here to get paid. He cared about Alastor, and because of that he cared about how he presented himself in his space. 

“Why, there’s no need to be so shy now!” Alastor says as he beckons for Angel to join him, jolting the spider out of his anxious worrying. The Radio Demon has a short glass of ice extended to Angel, a more relaxed grin on his face as he waits patiently for him to approach. 

“You know, My mother used to always say the “ _ Heavens were a’singin’ _ ” when it rained like this by the bayous.” Alastor muses, a casual conversation starter as he watches Angel. 

“The bayous?” Angel questions in surprise as he crosses the room, settling himself down onto the sofa next to Alastor. He accepts the glass, pouring the rum into his own before he does the same for Alastor. “Are you from the south?” 

“Indeed! Louisiana, born and raised,” Alastor comments, before he goes to take a draw of rum. He hums appreciatively as he does, relaxing further into the sofa as he mulls over his mouthful. “Would have all kinds of summer storms pass through. Turn the air green, thicker than a blanket before it broke open over the world.” 

“Green? That’s weird,” Angel muses, eyebrows furrowed. “Can’t say I dealt with storms like that where I’m from.” He shrugs, raising his glass to his lips as he considers it. Too far north, the weather never aligned for the kind of summer rain that Alastor must have been familiar with. 

“You’re afraid of them though, aren’t you Angel?” Alastor questions, no hint of accusation in his voice. Only sheer curiosity, as if Alastor was asking what Angel’s favorite food or color was. It catches Angel off guard, making him choke on his next mouthful of rum for a moment. 

“Guilty is charged,” he says once he’s stopped coughing, embarrassed. A conflicted look masks his features, eyes distant, as if the demon where lost in thought.

“Never liked them as a kid… Always too loud, startled me way too much. That part got better when Pop’s started makin’ me learn how to use a gun, would just tell myself it’s like that an’ nothin’ more. It… Don’t help I died durin’ a thunderstorm though, I guess…” Angel’s voice is sullen as he admits it, eyes turned down towards his lap in a shameful display of regret. 

It had been a long, agonizing death. The clatter of the thunder repeatedly jarring him out of his half comatose state as he suffered through the effects of his namesake. Vision swimming, the flashes not helping much at all with the seizures and fever. It was cold, dark, the lightning disorienting and the rain violent against the roof as Angel slowly succumbed. It was still an intense memory for the demon, something that never left him even after all his years in hell. 

Alastor is silent next to Angel as he takes in the information, the only sound between the pair being the static that the Radio Demon lets off and the soft pattering of rain outside. He can still smell the residual fear coming off of Angel, can taste it mixing with the unease and sorrow as the other thinks of his death. It was a nauseating cocktail for Alastor to take in, his grin small and hollow as he sips at his liquor in silence. Giving Angel time, space, and Alastor his own to try and change the subject. 

Once again, thunder breaks overhead, and once again Angel startles harshly from it. He gasps, eyes wide as he goes to stare at the flickering lights. His glass nearly slips from his grasp, rum sloshing onto his hands and the floor before Angel can manage to set it down on the low coffee table before the pair. There’s tears in his eyes once more, an overwhelmed expression on his face from having to contain just how scared he is by the storm raging outside and the memories it brings with it despite knowing the Radio Demon was aware of it. He was never good at showing weakness, was always told by his father that a real man didn’t show fear at all, no matter how bad. 

“Do you like Jazz?” Alastor questions as soon as the thunder passes, grin wide as he stares at Angel like nothing was wrong. Trying for a distraction, though Alastor still reaches a supportive hand out to rest over one of Angel’s in an attempt at comforting the other man. 

“Yeah, Pops was a big ol’ Louis fan.” Angel says, surprised and wide eyed as he stares at Alastor. He’s a bit thankful for the change of conversation, licking the rum off of his palms as he nods in response to the question and evens his breathing. He’d never listened to too much music while he was alive, and he was too shy to admit he was fond of the new age music that made it down to hell, but that didn’t change the fact that he was raised on Louis Armstrong and Sinatra. 

“Marvelous! What say we listen to a little something to distract from all the hullabaloo outside, dear?” Angel wants to say that Alastor’s blushing at him, that his smile seems a little softer, his gaze a little gentler as he turns to face the spider. His thumb rubs slow circles against Angel’s palm, something soothing and grounding, something to bring him out of the stress and panic. 

“Y-yeah, that’d be swell,” he says softly, a crooked smile on Angel Dust’s face as he nods. 

He’s surprised when Alastor still stands, straightening out his shirt and setting down his glass, despite changing the music on the radio without touching the device at all. The sound of static amplifies as if someone was rapidly scrolling through radio stations, drowning out the rain all together as a few garbled words or sentences cut through the harsh noise before the sudden sound of woodwinds and violins fills the air. There’s a hand once again extended towards Angel, and Alastor’s grin only grows wider when the other demon barely hesitates before taking it and letting the Radio Demon lead him into the middle of the room. Alastor guides Angel into a gentle swaying, his free hand going to rest against Angel’s back as he waltzes him slowly around the room. 

Angel is surprised not just by the dancing, but to also hear Alastor begin to sing along with the radio as the lyrics begin, song soft and deeper than he had anticipated. It’s a nice contrast to the high, warbling voice of the singer, and Angel is loathe to admit that Alastor’s accent is nearly spot on 

“ _ Des yeux qui font baisser les miens, un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche, voilà le portrait sans retouches, de l’homme auquel j'appartiens… Quand il me prend dans ses bras, Il me parle l’a tout bas, je vois la vie en rose, _ ” The Radio Demon croons almost lovingly. Alastor’s face has one of the most natural expressions on it that Angel has ever seen; Grin lax and small, eyes drooped happily. He looks relaxed, completely comfortable as he dances around the room in a lazy waltz. The french rolls easily off his tongue, though the accent is just different enough for Angel to pick up on it. It’s lovely to hear all the same, and Angel can’t help the smitten smile forming on his own face.

"Ya sound real sexy when ya speak french, toots, but I don’t know a lick of what your sayin’ here.” Angel Dust is laughing as he speaks, shaking his head a bit. He’s turning pink down to his chest fluff, flustered as he sways with Alastor. It was working as a distraction, keeping Angel’s mind off of the storm and instead on the other demon and the lyrics he sings to him. 

“Forgive me, cher, a habit from New Orleans living,” Alastor laughs with Angel, before another bout of harsh static fills the air. A clap of thunder follows, mixing awkwardly with the static of the radio, but Angel doesn’t flinch as violently this time. He starts, feet fumbling, slinking a bit closer to Alastor. Four hands clench against the other, the three hands not holding Alastor’s resting against his chest or bicep, wrinkling the otherwise pristine and pressed fabric of the Radio Demon’s dress shirt. Otherwise the spider seems unperturbed by the thunder, holding onto himself enough to simply focus on the demon before him. 

“Is that Mr. Armstrong?” The spider questions when trumpet sounds off over the radio. Alastor gives a nod and a wider grin, before he goes to spin Angel in their little dance. 

“ _ Hold me close and hold me fast, the magic spell you cast, this is “la vie en rose”, _ ” Alastor sings, privately elated by Angel’s recognizing the singer and song, and even more so at his lack of reaction when the thunder sounded off. He continues, motivated now, as he tugs Angel close against his chest. “ _ When you kiss me, heaven sighs, and though I close my eyes, I see “la vie en rose” _ .” 

Angel makes his own quiet attempts at singing along with Alastor, humming more than singing. He’d never been one for performing outside of his previous day job, and while Valentino had always praised Angel’s acting skills, his singing was never one he’d been told to write home about. Not to say he sang for much of anyone except Nuggets and his sister during their home-cooking duets. Alastor, however, perks up visibly at the sound of the spider’s voice, enough so that his dancing slows as he listens to the other demon. 

“ _ When you press me to your heart, I’m in a world apart, a world where roses bloom… And when you speak, angels sing from above, _ ” Angel sings quietly, Alastor’s voice softening to a hum so he can hear more clearly. “ _ Everyday words seem to turn to love songs. Give your heart and soul to me- _ ” 

“ _ -And life will always be “la vie en rose” _ .” Alastor joins Angel on the final verse, moving to dip him with a bit of a snicker. 

“Oh, Alastor,” Angel says in a mock swoon, one of the hands not holding onto the Radio Demon rising to rest against the spider’s forehead. “You’re such a charmer, why I just can’t handle it. Say somethin’ else to me in french!” 

Alastor lets out another soft laugh, pulling Angel up from the dip he was in as he hums in consideration. 

“ _ Je vous aime beaucoup, Ange, _ ” Alastor croons over the din of trumpet through the radio and rain. Angel only giggles at the French, a somewhat smitten look on his face as he lets the Radio Demon start up their lazy waltz once more, this time simply pressed tight against Alastor’s chest. 

“Y’could be tellin’ me the meanest thing and it’d still sound beautiful,” Angel sighs happily, going to tuck his head under Alastor’s chin. 

“ _ Pas aussi beau que toi, cher _ ,” 

“ _ Pas aussi _ to you too, Sugar,” Angel teases, his attempt at repeating what Alastor said being garbled by his New York accent. It draws a laugh out of Alastor, the demon shaking his head in amusement. 

“ _ Non ti capisco, ma e bellissimo, _ ” Angel murmurs after a few moments of quietly listening to the radio. Alastor starts in surprise, pulling back enough to crane his head down to grin at Angel. 

“I didn’t know you spoke italian,” he muses to the spider, who flusters quietly and gives a nod. 

“Somethin’ Pop’s made us all learn,” Angel Dust gives a shrug, the hand holding Alastor’s going to toy with the other demon’s fingers in a self conscious way. Another soft roll of thunder echos throughout the room, though the storm seems to slowly be passing. It mixes with the radio, blending with the static and gentle brass playing. 

“The storm is passing,” Alastor notes, as he pulls away enough to guide Angel over to the sofa once more. He settles them both down on it, an arm wrapped around the spider’s waist. Angel nods, humming softly in acknowledgement as he curls into Alastor’s side. 

“It sounds nice with the music,” Angel notes, taking up his glass once more with a smile. “Mind if I stay a while longer? This is… Really nice,” he admits quietly before taking a draw from his rum. 

  
“Stay as long as you’d like,  _ cher. _ ” 

**Author's Note:**

> French translations;  
"Des yeux qui font baisser les miens, un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche, voilà le portrait sans retouches, de l’homme auquel j'appartiens… Quand il me prend dans ses bras, Il me parle l’a tout bas, je vois la vie en rose" =  
"Eyes that bring down mine, a laugh that is lost on his mouth, this is the portrait without retouches, the man to whom I belong ... When he takes me in his arms, He speaks to me in a whisper, I see life in pink"
> 
> "Je vous aime beaucoup, Ange" = "I like you a lot, Angel"
> 
> "Pas aussi beau que toi, cher" = "Not as beautiful as you, dear"


End file.
